


Jim Knows Everything

by abigail89



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89





	Jim Knows Everything

**Title** : Jim Knows Everything  
 **Fandom** : Star Trek XI  
 **Pairing or Characters** : Kirk/McCoy  
 **Rating** : R  
 **Word Count** : 1211  
 **Warnings & Notes**: The fluff factor is pretty high.  
For the clever and luscious [](http://florahart.livejournal.com/profile)[**florahart**](http://florahart.livejournal.com/) who requested “Kirk/McCoy, a string of lights.”

Originally published December 2009

McCoy heads for the tubolift, leaving behind a day in medicalbay filled with two cases of space flu, one injured but stable engineer, and a half-dozen assorted crew who got into Scotty's homemade hooch in a fit of pre-Christmas celebrations and were being treated for dehydration and minor alcohol poisoning. _I swear to God, this ship is sometimes nothing more than a flying frat house_.

He's tired and hungry, having missed lunch and dinner, and in need of a hot shower. And a drink. The good stuff tonight, not the usual “after-work” bourbon. The thought of food, shower, and bourbon lifts his spirits somewhat. At least enough so that he doesn't snarl at the ensign who gets on the lift at Deck 4. One more and he'll be home.

 _Home_ , he snorts to himself--well, maybe not exactly to himself. The young ensign looks wide-eyed at him, as if he'll come charging at him if he breathes wrong. “As you were, kid,” McCoy says gruffly. “Merry Christmas.”

“Umm...Merry Christmas, sir,” the ensign manages to say, standing at attention.

Home is with Jim in his quarters, though they've been together for so long in those quarters, no one thinks of it as _the captain's_ quarters. The rooms are “theirs,” end of story. McCoy passes two sciene officers, nodding greetings to them. They are slightly inebriated, but are walking upright and in sort of a straight line, so McCoy rejects the idea of checking them over. _Gotta get Scotty to dial back on the alcohol level_. Asking Scotty to dismantle the efficient still hidden deep in the bowels of the engineering deck doesn't even cross his mind.

Two years they've been in stars; two years they've encountered strange new worlds and even stranger peoples and customs. For two years Jim Kirk has talked, fought, advised, been shot at, fallen and tumbled and for two years, Leonard McCoy has bandaged, regenerated, hyposprayed, and pieced together Jim Kirk's body after many of those encounters.

And after all that, Leonard McCoy would still follow Jim Kirk anywhere, even into the black-- on a flying bucket of bolts and titanium that's held together with string and prayer, it seems at times, by the grace of the Almighty and Montgomery Scott's genius, and the love and goodwill of a crew beings so devoted to Kirk it's actually inspiring. Leonard McCoy understands _that_ more than anyone else.

He sighs as the doors slide open to his shared quarters with Jim. It's quiet and dark, the way he likes it; a soft light comes from the bedroom.

“Merry Christmas, Bones!”

The corner of the living space comes to life with dozens of tiny white lights. They're draped around the one window that shows stars warping by, and looped around a small tree sitting in the center of their equally small dining table.

Jim is smiling as he holds out a tumbler of amber liquid. “Thought you might like a little something to help you unwind.”

“It's gonna take several somethings tonight,” McCoy says. He feels the knot between his shoulder blades relax a bit. “Jim, how'd you do this?”

“Oh, it pays to know a couple of creative electrical engineers who owe you big time for remaining quiet about a homemade still and some questionable betting pools.” Jim takes a sip from a glass of bourbon. “Like it?”

The tiny lights don't blink, but they twinkle ever so slightly. “It's beautiful. Reminds me of--”

“Christmas back in Georgia?”

McCoy looks at him steadily. “How'd you know?”

“That time you took me to your mom's, what, second year at the academy?” McCoy nods. “You got up in the night. I found you curled up on the sofa sound asleep, but the Christmas tree lights were on. I've always thought white lights are kinda boring; I like the colored ones myself.

Jim swirls the bourbon in his glass. “But you like them. Your mom had strings of them everywhere. So, I figured it's a McCoy thing. And”--he hesitates--”I know you're missing Joanna, so I wanted to, you know, make this at least something of a Christmas for you.”

McCoy takes a seat at the table, shaking his head in amazement at the man he's in love with. “Jim, this is--” He can't seem to finish the sentence.

There are small ornaments on the tree—some simple forms made from pieces of copper wire, a hemostat, a ball of silver, and some other questionable items. An angel in a white dress sits atop it.

“Ensign Pertorskey is going to want her doll back,” Jim says. “She collects dolls.”

“How'd you know that?”

Jim shrugs. “I'd be a poor captain if I didn't know at least one interesting thing about each member of my crew.”

Of course he knows; he probably knows _everything_ about _every_ member of his crew. Jim is that kind of captain. McCoy reaches over and takes Jim's hand. “And you know I like white lights. Thank you.”

Jim smiles. “I know a helluva lot about you, Bones.”

“I'm sure you do.”

Jim leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I know that right now, you're wishing for a shower. I also know you haven't eaten all day, which is why a plate will be delivered here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Aw, Jim, don't you have better things to do with your time than keep up with me during the day?” Bones is a little bit impressed, though.

“Nope. There is nothing more important to me than the well being of my best friend,” Jim replies simply.

He scoots his chair closer so he can put his arm around Bones's shoulders. He murmurs, “I know how to turn you on, too. I know that if I suck on that spot below your left ear, you will squirm like an earthworm in warm dirt.” Bones takes a sip of his bourbon, and flushes slightly. “I know you love having your nipples tweaked, and I know that you love having your balls rolled between my fingers.”

Jim kisses the corner of his mouth. “I also know that when I enter you,” he says in a lower tone, “you like it hard and fast, you like it when we're facing each other, and your left eye twitches right before you come.”

McCoy takes a shaky sip, then stops. “Does not.”

“Oh, yes it does.”

“No--”

“Bones,” Jim says, quietly, “how you ever watched yourself come?”

McCoy has to admit Jim's right about that. “Hmm...”

Jim plucks the glass from McCoy's hand. “Shower, then dinner. Go.”

"Now?"

"Right now."

"Evil bastard." But Bones stands up, erection evident, and heads to the bedroom.

*~*

Later, after hunger has been abated and Jim has sated him thoroughly, McCoy notices a string of white lights encircles the small window to the black above the bed. As sleep takes him, he thinks of a Georgia Christmas and a little girl without her daddy. For an instant he's saddened, but thinks next Christmas when he takes Jim home with him, they'll have to put lights around Joanna's bed, too.


End file.
